


Cerulean Blue

by zenderella



Series: The Big Three [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Danny, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Artist Stiles, Baseball Player Derek, Feels, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Just make sure you let me know and link me if you podfic or translate, Multi, OT3, Painter Stiles, Podfic Welcome, Polyamory, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Translation Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenderella/pseuds/zenderella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>You have reached the voicemail of the The Hot New Yankee,</i>" Danny could hear the capitalisation, "<i>I'm currently off somewhere being Hot or New or a Yankee, so leave a message. Don't blame me. You did this America.</i>" *<i>beeep</i>*</p><p>"Why is no one answering their phones?! Answer your stupid phone, Der. CODE BURNT UMBER, you grumpy butt. He's not even answering my texts now. It's been three days and I'm still stuck on set. Please tell me you are on your way over there and aren't still on a plane somewhere." He hung up with an exasperated sigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cerulean Blue.

Danny was the calm one. He was famous for it. Okay, so he was mostly famous for his cute smile, matching dimples, and pretending to be other people. It's all the magazines talked about, ' _Danny Mahealani: The Boy Next Door now on Hollywood's doorstep! With a smile that says sweet and dimples that break hearts._ '  
  
Funnily enough, Danny hadn't broken any hearts since high school. Though his own heart was currently trying to betray him, beating out an unstable tattoo.  
  
" _You have reached the voicemail of the The Hot New Yankee,_ " Danny could hear the capitalisation, " _I'm currently off somewhere being Hot or New or a Yankee, so leave a message. Don't blame me. You did this America._ " *beeep*  
  
"Why is no one answering their phones?! Answer your stupid phone, Der. CODE BURNT UMBER, you grumpy butt. He's not even answering my texts now. It's been three days and I'm still stuck on set. Please tell me you are on your way over there and aren't still on a plane somewhere." He hung up with an exasperated sigh.  
  
Deep breaths. He was meant to be the calm one.  
  
People were bustling around everywhere. He could see the gaffs and AD's running around trying to get the next scene ready. They were two days behind schedule because no one anticipated the New York City Sanitation Department to strike, as a result leaving a city covered in rubbish, which pushed their outside shoot out by a week. Danny could see the fan's behind the barricade in the distance. The longer the shoot went on, the larger the crowd got.  
  
Any other time he would be revelling in it. When he'd gotten the part in the pilot of Bryan Fuller's newest TV show, he'd been beyond excited. It hadn't even seemed real, but even he hadn't anticipated this, he hadn't anticipated 'The Big Three'. So being part of the most talked about TV show this year, was pretty worthy of revelry. Usually he'd be on Twitter teasing the fandom or on Instagram sharing fun behind-the-scenes guff. Not today, today he wanted to be at home. Needed to be at home. Not in this stupid chair, waiting.  
  
Danny's phone rings in his hand, he answered it after the first buzz. "Tell me you are there?" he leans his elbows on his knees, one hand over his eyes, the other holding the phone to his ear.  
  
"I'm in a cab. I'm 30 minutes away." Danny can hear the cab driver swearing in the background, "Okay, okay, just go as fast as you can." followed by silence. "Danny? Are you still there?" the voice is a comfort but seeing the scruffy face it's attached to would be better.  
  
"I'm still here, Der, and I'll be here on this set for all eternity at this rate. Wait, a cab?"  
  
"Yeah, my ride wasn't there, cab seemed quickest." He hesitated, "Danny," the voice shakes, "when I got off the plane, I had a voicemail from 4 am yesterday of him mumbling something about Cerulean Blue over and over again." There's a sigh and then an angry, "Fucking Code Burnt Umber."  
  
"I know, Derek. I know. Just get there please. Call me as soon as you get there."  
  
"If you weren't on set, I wouldn't hang up at all. Oh and Danny?"  
  
"Yeah"  
  
"Fire Greenberg."  
  
——  
  
Derek willed the traffic to clear and gave the cabbie a hundred to go faster.  
  
Greenberg had been their most recent and most disastrous of assistants. He couldn't even arrange a car service from the airport. You'd think 'New York's Big Three' could do better, but one assistant for three hot celebrities was a hard task without the challenges they in particular bought to the table. Due to shit planning on Greenberg's part, the three of them had been separated for way too long. Three weeks is too long. Team duties often took him out of the country or away for long periods of time, but Danny should have been there instead.  
  
Fucking Greenberg. Fucking Code Burnt Umber. One simple rule. Never schedule all three of them apart, simple. Not so simple. They had lost three assistants over it and now a fourth.  
  
He crossed his arms, slumped in the back of the cab and closed his eyes. He just wanted to shower and sleep. He could feel the jet lag slowly engulfing him. The flight from Australia had been over fourteen hours, add that to the lay over in L.A and the connecting flight to JFK. That didn't count the night of no sleep prior when he'd received the first message of concern from Danny. What time is it anyway?  
  
Pre-season team bonding in Australia had seemed like a great idea, but the distance, time zones, and insane summer heat had driven him crazy. Oh and the fucking paps. How the paparazzi found him in another country he would never know. 'Hot New Yankee' they called him. They used that more than his name. Derek hated it. Yes, he was a slugger for the New York Yankees but he wasn't new. One season of fantastic hits combined with a paparazzi photo of him dancing with his shirt off, kissing someone in a club, and he was suddenly 'The Hot New Yankee'. He hated it. He was Derek Hale, dammit.  
  
All that was a distant second place right now to needing to be home. Code Burnt Umber. Neither he or Danny had heard from him in days. He wasn't even responding to texts at this point, and texting was his main form of communication. No response was an automatic Code Burnt Umber.  
  
"We're here," the driver stated as they pulled up to his building in The Village. He turned and looked at Derek, the face of slow recognition appearing on his features, "Hey! Hot New Yankee!" Derek soured. The driver flinched, took the extra hundred Derek threw at him and looked away. On most days, in Derek's mind, Greenwich Village was all sunshine and singing muppets. Today, as he exited the cab, he could feel the dark cloud hovering over his red brick home, the ex-firehouse at 70 Barrow Street.  
  
Grabbing his bags, he bolted inside, dumping the luggage on the run up through the building. Speed dialing Danny as he went.  
  
"STILES?!"  
  
"Tell me you are there. I'm in a car service. I'm ten minutes away." Danny sounded freaked. Danny was never freaked. Danny was the calm one.  
  
"I'm here." He took the spiral staircase steps three at a time, up to the studio on the top floor.  
  
"STILES!!" he yelled the through the building again, reaching the sliding studio door, which was pointedly closed and locked. Derek banged on the door repeatedly, he'd punch through it if he had to. "STILES. PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR." The silence on the other side was extremely ominous. He tried again and again.  
  
"Nothing. Fuck." Derek slid down onto the floor, his back leaning against the stubborn barrier. His breathing was heavy, the panic was settling in now. Danny was the calm one. Oh, Danny, who was still on the phone.  
   
"Danny, how are you in a service car and not on set?"  
  
"Just breath, Der. I'm five minutes away and fuck set," Danny never swore, "they can live without me for bit."  
  
"Danny. You play Gomez Addams, in a show about Gomez and Morticia Addams. It's the lives of young Gomez and Morticia living their blissful kooky and ooky 20s in New York City. You're _half_ the show."  
  
"Well, they can shoot Allison's solo scenes or 2nd Unit or something. I'm pulling into our street now." He hung up.  
  
Derek stood and tried banging again. He spoke through the door, "Stiles… please open the door. Please… be okay." He knew he was speaking to himself more than Stiles at this point.  
  
He heard the front door open and the heavy foot steps of Danny doing the same run he did previously. Derek leant his forehead against the cold metal of the studio door. Breath Derek.  
  
——  
  
Stiles' brush hovered over the canvas, his chest ached, and his brush started quivering in his hand. He hadn't slept in days… or was it weeks? It felt like weeks. Something was wrong with his pillow. He couldn't sleep without his pillow. It didn't smell right. It had lost it's smell. Cerulean Blue. What was he thinking with Colbolt Blue? Cerulean Blue. Cerulean Blue was where it's at. Cerulean Blue screamed ocean, Cerulean Blue screamed tears. Cerulean Blue was his life. Cerulean Blue was his love. His love. His loves. The ache in his chest roses to the surface again.  
  
He turned the volume up even further on his headphones, he swore he could physically hear the pounding of his own heart through his chest. He was so close. He lifted his brush to the canvas again. This was the one. Finish this one and he could rest. Finish this one and he could stop.  
  
Stiles’ new collection was being hailed with much anticipation by New York's Art scene. Actually, since one of his paintings had graced the cover of The New Yorker, everyone in Manhattan knew his name. Luckily for him, the name they knew him by was 'Gin', a shortened version of his birth name. It was used as a pseudonym to help hide him from the world. He was one of New York's Big Three and they didn't even know what he looked like.  
  
This way he could spend his days painting to his hearts content and not deal with people. Stiles didn't like people. Well, very few people. People generally, on mass, were assholes. He took a step back from the canvas, Mermen on the other hand, were awesome. Well, abstract representations of Mermen were awesome.  
  
The canvas in front of Stiles consumed the wall behind it. Stiles liked large. Large scale was good. One viewing of Monet's Water lilies and he had never gone small again. His current collection was littered around the studio, leaning against other walls, a couple lay on the wood floors. Jars of turpentine and brushes, and tubs and tubes of paint on every surface. There was an unblemished view of the sky through the large paned window, the sunlight shone and begged Stiles to curl up and rest his eyes.  
  
Brand New played wistfully in his ears, he swayed, no, he staggered. His hand and brush shook vigorously. He pushed and twisted his fingers into his chest. He missed them. He could hear Derek's voice now. It's not real. He'd been seeing and hearing things the last few days. It's just the lack of sleep. He dropped his brush and counted his fingers. Ten. Good, not dreaming, but he could still hear the banging of his heart and Derek's voice. He could have a drink? No. They would hate that. He would hate that. God, how he missed them. Stiles sunk to the floor, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and thought of his Abyss. Cerulean Blue. Cerulean Blue. Cerulean Blue.  
  
——  
  
They hadn't had a Code Burnt Umber in over a year. Danny thought they'd make it through this collection unscathed. They had already fought this battle. Stupid Greenberg. He ran up the spiral stair case. If they hadn't been separated… Derek. Derek was there, endlessly pounding on the studio door, forehead rested forward, pleading to Stiles to please open up. His back was to him, Danny could see his broad shoulders knotted through his dark green henley, his breathing haggard and heavy. Danny stepped up behind Derek and placed his hands gently on Derek's hips.  
  
"We're here. We're home. Breathe, Der." The 'it's going to be okay' was unspoken but he knew Derek understood.  
  
Derek leant his head back to rest against Danny's shoulder, just the edge of his panic leaving him, "He isn't answering. What if he's done it this time? What if he's drunk himself into his "Abyss"?"  
  
Stiles pretended to hate it when Derek used the air quotes when referencing his Abyss, but they all knew the teasing was foreplay. This time it took on a serious tone. Danny wrapped his arms around Derek further and pressed their temples together. Danny was done. He was tired, he's been on set for too long, and everything was meant to be better when Derek got back, but now Stiles was Burnt Umber-ing all over the place. Danny was meant to be the calm one.  
  
"Let's bust the door off it's fucking rails."  
  
Derek spun in his arms facing him and furrowed his eyebrows, "Danny, you swore. That's twice now. You never swear."  
  
Danny raised one eyebrow of his own, "That's the part you focus on?"  
  
"Right. Door. Busting." They braced themselves on one side of the sliding metal door. "Okay, kick on three. One… two… three!" With a loud crunch, the door flew open and toppled with a thump.  
  
Stiles was unconscious on the floor.  
  
"STILES!" They raced to his side. Derek braced Stiles' head in his lap, Danny leant over him, his and Derek's hands together framed Stiles' face.  
  
Danny could see the dark circles under Stiles eyes, he was so pale, apart from the parts covered in paint. There was a streak of white through the front of his hair, greens and greys all over his black shirt, and blue all over his face and hands. Not completely out of the ordinary. Paint on Stiles was as frequent as his constellation of moles, but hadn't he left the studio at all? His thumb gently slid along Stiles' cheek bone, had he been eating? From here he could hear the dulcet tones of Jesse Lacey through his head phones which had slipped from his head in the chaos, and what appeared to be… snoring?!  
  
"He's asleep."  
  
Danny watched as Derek's whole body physically unlocked, his shoulders finally relaxed somewhat. Derek wrapped one hand around the back of Danny's neck pulling their foreheads together. "He hasn't slept while we've been away, thinks his pillow smells wrong, has camped out in his studio painting 24 hours a day, has forgotten to eat, has been listening to angst ridden Brand New over and over again, and has now passed out probably chanting Burnt Umber this whole time."  
  
He nodded, the tattoo of his heart beat finally steadying . "Exactly that."  
  
"Cerulean Blue, actually." Stiles slurred, mid waking up, he tapped his finger on the tip of Danny's nose, then on Derek's, and proceeded to pass out again.  
  
Danny looked at Derek's nose, a small smile crossed his face, his dimples showing for sure.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Stiles blew us."  
  
"What?!" Derek wiped the tip of his own nose, and looked at the paint on his finger.  
  
"Ha. Stiles Cerulean Blue us."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! I hope you enjoyed that!
> 
> This is my first Teen Wolf fic and my first fic on Ao3. It's far from beta'd, though I have read it through a million times. I'm sure it's not perfect. Are my hands shaking? I think they are shaking.
> 
> The band Stiles is listening to is real and is called [Brand New](http://www.fightoffyourdemons.com/). This is a nod to one of my favourite Sterek AUs [Play Crack the Sky by Derrbobs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/989786).
> 
> The Ex-Firehouse in 70 Barrow Street in The Village [is a real place](http://www.urbanedgeny.com/property/70-barrow-street-apartments). I have made it one giant home instead of separate apartments.
> 
> This is also the first of what I hope to be several more chapters.


	2. Ugly Green Sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all who have left comments and kudos on my first chapter. As this is the first fic I've really written (aside from a very short Gone in 60 Seconds/Fast and the Furious Crossover I wrote when I was a teenager), it's just wonderful to hear that people have enjoyed it so far!

Derek woke to find Danny staring at him. 

Derek had carried a sleeping Stiles to the ugly green sofa in the studio and proceeded to pass out sitting up. Stiles was still fast asleep, spread face down across the sofa, one arm hung over the edge, face squished into the seat cushion with his bare feet in Derek's lap. 

He didn’t think he’d slept for long, his anxiety still lingered from the past few days events. They were all together now. Everything was okay right? The thought of losing Stiles. Derek gripped the feet in his lap. Losing Danny. They had been his everything since High School, since the fire… he didn’t want to lose anyone ever again.

Danny was still staring. 

Danny's head ducked down. He put his hands in his front pockets and he looked up at Derek through his lashes. Derek groaned as his pants instantly tightened. What was he thinking about again? Danny added his small smile, the dimples appeared. He stepped toward the sofa. "He'll be okay you know." Everything Danny said when he looked like this was extremely convincing.

This is how Danny had gotten him in High School. The head tilt, the eyelash gaze. Danny could tell him to jump of a cliff right now and Derek would do it. 

Danny had only been a Freshman and the very first time he’d seen Danny he’d instantly frozen. Unfortunately it had been in the middle of baseball tryouts, he was a Junior and team captain. He’d stopped mid play, bat in hand and a dumb look on his face and then was struck by the ball that had been pitched toward him. When he’d opened his eyes, staring up at the sky from the dirt of home plate, Danny had been gazing down at him. Danny and his stupid head tilt had softly asked “So, Friday. We’ll see a movie. Right?” Derek had just nodded in a hypnotised fashion.

Derek spared a glance toward Stiles, ”He needs to eat."

Danny took another step forward, his knees brushed against Derek's, "So do you.” He nodded in sleeping Stiles’ direction,”How did you sleep?"

“Not well enough,” God, Derek felt like he could sleep for a week, "but…”, he looked over at Stiles and again gripped the ankles in his lap, "but..."

"He's going to be fine, Der."

Danny lifted Stiles legs, lowered himself to straddle Derek's lap, and gently placed Stiles' feet back between them. Danny ran his fingers through Derek's hair, causing Derek to groan again and lift his hips on reflex. Danny always smelt sweet, of apples and warm days. It was intoxicating this close. 

Derek’s mind ran through the worries of the last three days. All the scenarios he’d imagined. Looking around the studio, there were no empty bottles, no smell of smoke, no cigarettes. None of the tell tale signs that Stiles was getting into trouble again. He’d just been painting. Addictively and unhealthily obsessing over his art, but still just painting. He was okay. Danny was calm again. They were all together. All was right in his world.

Danny’s beautiful hair stroking hands paused, “Stop thinking.” Hair stroke. “Get some more sleep. I'll go get food." He dropped one hand to Derek’s on Stiles' legs, “You guys should sleep.” Head tilt. Eyelash gaze. “Or alternatively we could…“ Hip roll.

Derek grabbed the front of Danny’s shirt, his resistance completely gone. 

”It's been three weeks, Danny. Are you going to kiss me or not?" 

 

——

Stiles couldn’t move his legs. Oh god. Karma had finally caught up with him for being an imperfect asshole and now the building had collapsed on him and he would never walk again. He would never paint again, his artwork would triple in price and he’d fade away to nothing. Fuck. He groaned. Wait. He could hear more groaning. Oh no! Other people must have been crushed. He opened his eyes. _Oh fuck_. He’d died. He’d died in this horrible building collapse and had gone to Heaven. 

Derek and Danny were at the end of the sofa in each others laps. Stiles feet were trapped between them getting in on hot action that the rest of him should have been getting. Derek's shirt was racked right up to his armpits, Danny straddled Derek’s thighs, his hands constantly on the move from Derek's chest, his abs, up again to around his neck, in his hair. Danny’s jeans were unzipped, half down his hips, no doubt aided by Derek whose hands had dipped into the back of said jeans grabbing Danny's ass. All the while the two of them licked and dipped into each others mouths like starving animals.

Stiles palmed himself through his jeans, biting his bottom lip. This must be Hell. He’d died and now had to watch this perfection personified and not be able to join in ever again. He must have passed out in his studio, died from exhaustion and paint fumes, his collection a few paint strokes from completion. Then cursed for all eternity. So it goes.

He must have audibly groaned because Derek and Danny froze mid groin roll and turned their heads toward Stiles. 

"You're awake!” Derek's smile could could power a city.

“I’m not dead!” Stiles smiled and wiggled his feet and toes with glee.

They were real. They were here. They were home. Stiles’ smile grew wider.

Danny’s smile joined the ranks and Stiles thought he might pass out from happiness. If Derek’s smile could power a city, when combined with Danny’s and those blessed dimples, stars exploded and new galaxies began. He palmed himself through his jeans again, drawing the attention of both smiles. 

Stiles’ face grew smug, “Very not dead and _very_ awake.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Directness had never been a problem for Stiles. Though it was probably partially the reason his agent was happy with him remaining unknown to the public. He didn’t care if people liked him or not, as he didn’t like people. Well, all except two. 

He had kept to himself all through middle school, finding quiet places to draw in his journals, he hadn’t expect high school to be any different. But there he’d been halfway through his Freshman year when he’d stumbled into a usually abandoned stairwell to find a crying leather-clad Junior Baseball Captain sitting in his favourite spot. “You look like shit,” he’d said “and you’re in my spot.” Derek had looked up from where his head had been resting on his knees and with puppy dog eyes soaked in tears, just stared at Stiles. Stiles had sat down beside him, leant his shoulder against Derek’s and handed him his Cherry Coke, “I suppose we can share it.” 

Stiles wiggled his feet again. Derek and Danny looked at each other and then simultaneously pulled Stiles by the legs toward them. 

“Oh the Hot New Yankee and Hollywood’s Boy Wonder want me. _ME!_ ” If Derek hadn’t started mouthing at the dip between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, he’s pretty sure Derek would have told him to fuck off. Instead Derek had shoved a hand under Stiles t-shirt and swiftly tickled his side. 

“AH! Okay, okay, OKAY! I guess I deserve that. Oh fuck—“ Stiles was on his back, mid-sofa, with Derek between his bent legs. Danny had shifted behind Stiles, cradling Stiles’ head and shoulders in his lap. Danny, the evil genius, leaning over Stiles, had ended the offending tickling by stripping Derek of his green Henley. 

Stiles closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to just take a breath and remind himself this was real. He could feel the sun from his studio window warming his skin, he could smell the glorious sent of his oils, new canvas, and turpentine. Most importantly, he could smell sweet apples and freshly mowed grass, the combined smell of his loves. He could feel Derek’s lips on his neck, mumbling something about avoiding the paint spots, and could feel Danny’s hands sliding up his arms.

Stiles eyes snapped open. He quickly counted his fingers.

Derek lifted his head briefly, “How many? Ten?” Stiles nodded, smiled even wider and pulled him into a kiss.

 

——

This was it. Danny could feel it again. He was home. Derek was home. Stiles was okay. Calm. 

Danny was pressed against Stiles’ back. Derek against Stiles’ front. They cocooned Stiles between them, needing to keep him safe. The last bit of tension finally left the three of them. 

They were all still upright on the sofa, though now conveniently shirtless. Danny was tracing the abstract piece of art that was Stiles’ mole and paint smear covered back, with his tongue. Derek had resumed his earlier attempts to get his hands in Danny’s pants and was grabbing at his ass, his arms either side of Stiles, pulling them all closer together. Derek’s rough hands were practically a fetish and the act drew Danny’s length against Stiles’ ass, so Danny wasn’t complaining. 

“We need a bigger sofa in here.” Derek mumbled, breaking the kiss between him and Stiles. Stiles’ arms flailed from where they had been gripping a thigh from each of the guys, “Not my Lucky Green Sofa! I’ve had her since college!”. Derek just smirked, pleased that Stiles had fallen for his tease and turned his attention to giving Stiles’ neck a hickey. Danny chuckled and took the opportunity to pull Stiles’ head back to him, finally getting to lick, bite, and kiss deeply those lips he’d missed so much. Stiles relaxed once more.

Stiles tasted of sugar and smelt of paint. It was overwhelming and caused a warm contented feeling deep inside him. Danny raked one hand down Stiles’ neck, over his throat and stopped flat on his chest. Danny reached for Derek with his other hand, pulling him up to kiss him again. Stiles’ head fell back at the loss of Danny’s lips, onto Danny’s shoulder. Stiles began to rock his hips forward and back between his cocooning guys. Derek and Danny moaned, both hard and melting with Stiles’ touch.

He often likened Stiles to fire. He was chaotic and unpredictable. They had to watch and tend too him in case he got out of control, or worse, his flame went out all together. Derek, like water, was mostly quiet and still, but capable of great rapids and waves when a storm hit. Just like fire and water, Stiles and Derek should be natural enemies, but here they were, two elements coming together and making something beautiful. Danny supposed that made him earth. He was sturdy and strong beneath them, while they renewed him and made him feel alive. He needed them and they needed him. Take any one element away and their little ecosystem fell apart. 

They’d all come together mid his and Stiles’ Freshman year. He’d been looking for Derek everywhere. Derek had been trying to call him all morning, but Danny had left his phone in his locker and had only just heard the news. They’d been dating since the start of baseball tryouts and he knew Derek had to be looking for him. Derek had to be at the school somewhere. He found him and Stiles in that empty stairwell, holding hands and whispering quietly to each other. They had been there for hours, sharing stories of family they no longer had. 

Stiles had spotted Danny first and with wetted eyes and a smirk, stated “Hey Lurker, get in on this sweet action” patting the empty space on his other side. Danny had hesitated for a moment. He’d known of Stiles, they were both Freshman after all. They’d even shared a few classes, but had never spoken. Then he’d watched Stiles’ smirk soften to a fond smile when he’d glanced back at Derek. Derek, who in that moment couldn’t take his eyes off Danny. Those eyes red from tears but filled with relief at Danny’s presence and comfort from the new hand holding his. So, Danny had sat. They had been inseparable ever since. None of them saw the fame coming, or the hardships they had to conquer. All they had seen was each other. 

“We should take this to the bedroom.” Derek was right, the sofa was too small.

“No way am I making it that far… or that _long_ ,” and with that Stiles braced one hand on Derek's chest and began to repeatedly grind his ass against Danny’s lap and shoved his other hand down the front of Derek’s jeans. 

“Fuuuuuuck” Derek dropped his forehead against Stiles shoulder and Derek’s hands against Danny’s ass stiffened and stilled. He wasn’t going to last long and Danny wasn’t far behind. It had been a long few weeks and Stiles was impatient. Danny gripped them both tighter, Stiles quickened his pace and sucked at Danny’s bottom lip. The friction of Stiles’ jeans against his was too much, the warmth at his core tightened and he exploded. Mere moments later, with a deep moan, Derek too, came crashing down.

Stiles had made them both come in their pants like teenagers. Stiles was chuckling. 

After a moment of rest, Derek looked up and quirked his eyebrow at Danny. Danny returned with a quick nod. Simultaneously, they both dived into to Stiles’ jeans. Derek’s hand went for the front and Danny the back. It was just seconds from when Derek started pumping that Stiles’ head fell back once again on to Danny’s shoulder, his eyes glazed over with lust.

All it took was for Danny to wiggle one little finger and Stiles was gone, shuddering between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is still far from Beta'd. I've read through it a bunch of times and every time I do I find something small to fix. I just couldn't wait any longer to post it. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm tempted to end this fic here as a stand alone, and perhaps add other stories from this universe as a series instead. Still undecided. 
> 
> I certainly have more to write about these three fellas!
> 
> In case your interested, you can find me on Tumblr [here](http://zenny.tumblr.com).


End file.
